Page 73 of Filthy Liar
“I think we both, because of who we are and how we have lived our lives, compartmentalize sex and intimacy.”
“Fair point.”
“And I’ve been thinking about that summer, five years ago.” His gaze heats up, hungry and aroused.
“I think of it often,” I murmur.
“Why was it so hot, and left such a lasting impression on us, if we weren’t really being true to ourselves or each other?”
I think he’s been reading just the right amount of modern philosophy books. “I have no idea, but I can’t wait to hear your hypothesis.”
He grins. “That summer—because it wasn’t you, becauseyou knewwe could never amount to anything, and you knew you wouldn’t be using me for a story—you were free torole playthe combination of the two together. Sex plus intimacy.”
“That’s quite the hypothesis.”
“You can tell me I’m wrong.”
I shake my head. “You’re not wrong. I think that’s probably exactly right.” I take a deep breath. “But I think we should finish the rest of this conversation at home.”
Our driveback to his apartment is fraught with a delicious kind of tension. Inside, we open a bottle of wine and put on music, then fall onto the couch together.
“This was exactly what I needed,” I murmur as he trails his fingers down my arm.
“We both needed it.” He holds my gaze, but doesn’t push.
We both know I’ve left some things unsaid, and now is the time to dig deeper. I reach out and touch his face. He’s started to go gray, just a little, in all the right places.
Five years is a long time.
But I remember that summer so clearly. So I take a deep breath, and bare my soul. “It was so hard to see you again, after all that time. Scary. Absolutely frightening, and for no good reason that I could sort out. It took me a long time to admit to myself that it was so hard for me to be back in close proximity to you, because I knew that this time, I would have to know better than to fall in love with you.”
His blue eyes narrow, piercing me with their intensity. “This time?”
I’m shaking. “I’d already fallen for you once. I fell in love with you five years ago.”
He’s a statue, frozen and expressionless.
I run my fingers over his cheek and bravely push on. “I already walked away once, too, and I knew how hard that was. I couldn’t let myselffeelthat deeply again. So I couldn’t be the same person. I think I had to hold part of myself back.”
He catches my wrist, stilling my fingers. Then he slowly turns his head and kisses the inside of my forearm, raising goosebumps. “And now? Are you still holding something back?”
I shake my head slowly. “But it’s taken me a while to get my strength back, and I thinkyouare maybe holding something back.”
He looks genuinely surprised. “Me?”
“You don’t need to be gentle with me anymore.”
“I want to be.”
“I know. But I want…the full range of experiences. Gentle. Hard. Demanding. Bossy. Needy. Urgent—”
He puts both of his hands on my waist and hauls me into his lap. Hard, demanding, and very urgent. “So we both need to let go of worry.”
“Yes,” I whisper. My breath is a prayer. How lucky am I? It’s an absolute miracle that I get to show him how much I love him and how much I want him. But I don’t say anything else.
He traces my jaw with his fingertips, then taps my lower lip. “Spread your legs for me.”
I twist in his lap so I’m straddling him.
